


First Train Home

by marras



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - More Information on Author's Note, Background Relationships, Bittersweet, Ghost Bokuto, KuroKenma - Freeform, M/M, Names Spelled According to Wikia, POV Akaashi Keiji, POV Third Person Limited, Slice of Life, but more sweet than bitter, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marras/pseuds/marras
Summary: On the first train home, there was a dead man.The man was never anywhere else but on that green, old train that left the platform seventeen minutes after Akaashi was excused from his volleyball practise.The day the two met, Bokuto Kōtarō had already been dead for almost twenty years.***This slice of life story covers the fleeting meetings of a boy still alive and a boy long dead on their ways home; one that the other can, and the other cannot reach. Please read the start notes for explanations of what has been changed for this AU for the sake of your own reading pleasure.





	First Train Home

**Author's Note:**

> AU NOTES:  
> Surroundings: I moved Fukurōdani into a smaller, imaginary city because I thought it might get a bit hard to imagine as old of a train car as this story needed in Tokyo? The train & the station are based on real old trains and a station I used to use, but all the facts relating to it are pulled from thin air. 
> 
> Characters: A lot of the characters are of different ages than in canon and partially in different volleyball teams. Bokuto, Kuroo and Kenma were born 20 years before Akaashi and rest of the Fukurōdani team you know from the comics. The Fukurōdani team of 20-years past is pretty much Nekoma team + Bokuto. It’s not important factor in the story, but should make this AU easier to understand. Bokuto is also calmer than he is in the manga & anime due the time he has spend as a ghost. 
> 
> Lack of Warnings: Since Bokuto is dead long before the story starts, I do not see major character death-warning to be needed. The circumstances of his death are referred to, but not in a graphic manner. Please note that if you are uncomfortable with the whole romance idea between a human and a ghost and not sure what to think of the years Bokuto has spend as a ghost relating to his age you do not have to read this. I consider Bokuto 17 all the same, since his brain will always been that of a 17-year old and really haven't been able to collect life experience after dying.

On the first train home, there was a dead man.

Not the rotting, corpse kind of dead, but more of the slightly translucent, ' _did that woman just actually walk through your legs?'_   kind of ghostly dead. Or then Akaashi was going insane. Actually, screw that - he definitely was insane, and the future tense was irrelevant. There was simply no doubt of it.

What made Akaashi sure of it was that very same dead man, since the first thing that crossed Akaashi's mind was ' _he's got pretty eyes’_ instead of something more useful like ' _time to call the funeral service_ ' or ' _I should text my mum to tell her that I love her_ ' or even something simple like ' _run_ '.

He did none of that.

Not very content with his life decisions, Akaashi seated himself next to the dead man.

It was a warm day of June of his sixteenth summer when he wrote ' _you have beautiful eyes_ ' to the corner of his sketchbook page and was the only one in the train to hear the 'Thanks!' the man bellowed in response.

***

The next day, the man was on the train again, smiling as his eyes met with Akaashi's.

Sighing silently, Akaashi walked up to the man again and sat down by him. He had hoped not to see the man so that he could blame everything that had happened on being too tired, but the man remained in the train even after a good eight hours of sleep. Akaashi was disappointed, to say the least.

(Silently, he accepted what he had deducted to be insanity and rummaged through his bag to pull out his sketchbook once more.)

'Hello', he wrote down. 'We meet again.'  
"Heyyyy", the man replied, grinning. "Nice to see you again."  
'What are you?' Akaashi wrote. 'And why do people walk through you?'  
"I think the word you are looking for is 'a ghost'", the man replied. "And people walk through ghosts because they... walk through ghosts, don't they?"  
'I guess they do', Akaashi admitted, tapping his pen against the soft cream coloured paper. 'I haven't exactly met one before so I wouldn't know.'  
"So I'm your first one?" the ghost asked, his smile widening. "That's so cool!"

Silently, Akaashi sighed again and closed the sketchbook, paying no heed to the ghost for rest of the trip, lost in thought as he stared at the scenes passing by through the dirt dotted windows.

***

The man was never anywhere else but on the green, old train that left the platform seventeen minutes after Akaashi was excused from his volleyball practise.

Akaashi wasn't sure if it was the time of the day, or was it that he just never saw the exact same train on any other time than right after his practise ended. He had memorised the number of the said train, written on a small metallic plate by its doors, intending on testing his theory once he could.  
So far, Akaashi had resisted the urge to google the train.

"Hey hey hey!" the man greeted him as he stepped into the sparsely populated car, sharing it for the fourth time with the ghost who was dressed in a way that smelled like 90's alternative teen fashion mixed with the way of bubble gum pop sounded. The style probably had a name, or had had one on its time, but Akaashi couldn't speak fashion to save his life so he didn't know what it could be. Silently pondering about it, Akaashi took the seat next to the man and pulled out his phone.

'hi ', he wrote.  
"I have been wondering - why don't you speak to me?" the man asked, cocking his head. "Isn't it harder to write? Or can't you speak?"  
'i can speak just fine', Akaashi typed. 'i just don't want to seem insane by talking to myself.'  
"But you aren't talking to yourself!"  
'in others' eyes, i'd be.'  
"Hey, that hurts", the man pouted. "Don't remind me about it."  
'sorry', Akaashi typed quickly, frowning. 'what's your name?'  
"I thought you'd never ask! I'm Kōtarō! Bokuto Kōtarō!"  
'Bokuto-san', Akaashi typed. 'the name fits you.'  
"I know, right! It's awesome! What's your name?"  
'Akaashi.'  
"Akaashi. Akaashi what?"  
'just Akaashi', Akaashi typed, surprised by the pressure the man added to _'kaa'_ in his name instead of just pronouncing it flatly.  
"Just Akaashi or Akaashi Akaashi?"  
'neither'  
"Then you are more than 'just Akaashi'."  
'Bokuto-san', Akaashi typed, frowning deeper. 'there's no need for you to know my first name.'

Akaashi didn't even know if there was a word in this world capable of capturing the way Bokuto's face fell. If there was, it was probably one of those weird English words longer than he was tall written in comic sans size 8 without page breaks or marginals. Because somehow, Bokuto certainly would pick comic sans if he was given the change to choose a font for an English paper - Akaashi was certain of it.

"Akaashi", the ghost – Bokuto – said, his lip quivering. "Don't talk to me anymore."  
Then, he walked five seats down to the left and took a seat by sitting through some obese middle-aged guy. Only thing that was left of him for Akaashi to see was his hair (white with black stripes, styled into two _horns_ that were currently poking through a gleaming forehead and a rather impressive bald circle) and the knobbly knees revealed by hiss ripped pastel jeans. He was a tall ghost man, after all.

(Akaashi idly wondered how it felt to have a ghost to sat on you.)  
  
The man hadn't even flinched when Bokuto had touched him. He didn't seem to notice there was a tall amount of impressively muscular, young ghost currently inhabiting the exact same part of the universe as he was. Like Bokuto wasn't even real.  
Maybe he wasn't. Maybe Akaashi just was nuts.

(But if he wasn't?)

Akaashi liked to be silent and yet he couldn't help but feel sick at the thought of reaching out to people but never, ever being seen nor heard.

(He didn't really want to know how much worse it had to felt for someone as seemingly social as Bokuto Kōtarō had proved himself to be.)

***

When Akaashi boarded the train the following Tuesday, having missed the train on Monday due extended practise, Bokuto walked to sit next to Akaashi and greeted him as if nothing had ever happened.

"Heyyy", he whined when Akaashi didn't reply to his loud hellos. "Why won't you speak to me?"  
Wordlessly, Akaashi plucked in the headphones he had taken out of his bag and settled them to his ears.  
"Akaashi!" Bokuto bleated. "Hey Akaashi, you can hear me, can't you? Hey! You aren't even listening to music, are you just ignoring me? Is this because of what I said because -"  
"Bokuto-san", Akaashi said, glancing down at his phone trying to fake surprise. "I didn't expect you to call."

Bokuto blinked, his mouth stopped ajar mid-sentence. Akaashi couldn't help but compare him to a gif of a baffled owl his friend had showed him the week before as he continued to blink his yellow eyes slowly at Akaashi.  
"Oh?" Akaashi said, moving his eyes to properly meet Bokuto's, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm in the train, but I can talk a little if you want to?"  
He winked, hoping no-one else would but the ghost would see it.

Bokuto looks so radiant once the realisation hits him that if the sun was capable of feeling emotion, it certainly was jealous of the ghost, and somehow it made Akaashi feel a little better for breaking the train etiquette so badly. He could stand a few men staring daggers at him for once.

"Are you pretending to call me?! Akaashi that's so cool!"  
"Yes, Bokuto-san", Akaashi smiled. "That's what I said."  
"That's so cool!" Bokuto yelled, smile splitting his face in half. "You have such a pretty voice Akaashi! Not that I expected anything else, but it's pretty! Like you!"

Bokuto shines even brighter, and if Akaashi's cheeks felt a little hot, he blamed it on the radiating warmth of the man next to him.

***

Akaashi doesn't know if there's any etiquette to what's okay and what's not okay to do when you befriend a ghost, but after the several faked phone calls and handful of half written chats more with the excited ghost man Akaashi does what he has yearned to do all along.

He googles the train and learns that the ghost never lied to him about who he was. Bokuto Kōtarō, age 17, ranked in the top five high school aces of his time, had died on the derailing of the very train Akaashi now travelled in, on a snowy day of November 1997.

Akaashi also learns why no-one wears the shirt number 4 in his team anymore, looking at the picture of the man in all too familiar Fukurōdani volleyball uniform smiling in middle of what could only be his team of the time, ridiculous, long kneepads wrapping around the legs that showed muscle from years and years of ruthless training.

Akaashi had to look away.

***

'can you touch anything?'  
The train was too full for Akaashi to be comfortable to fake a phone call that day, with a group of lively schoolgirls chattering almost right by his side. So, he had reverted back to writing on his phone.  
"Kind of", Bokuto replied. "But usually only if no-one who is alive is touching it at the time."  
'can you leave this train?'  
"I can. But I can't go very far away from it."  
'what do you do when it's night?'  
"I take a slumber or walk outside looking at the stars. Sometimes I read magazines that people leave in the train if I haven't already done it during the daytime. Run around. Small things."  
'where is this train during the night?'  
"In the last stop, just a little to the side from where people get on. It's a small station, not much around."  
'would you want me to stay the night?'  
  
Bokuto stares at the message for a very long time, his eyebrows knitted together.  
"With me?" he then asks, looking at Akaashi, confused. "In some empty station?"  
'if you can open the doors, we can stay in the train, too.'  
"But... why?"  
'no reason', Akaashi types. 'i thought it could be fun.'  
"But what if there are some creepers?"  
'then you can shake trashcans or something else to scare them away.'  
"Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to."  
'i understand that i don't have to, Bokuto-san', Akaashi typed. 'but i want to.'

Sometimes Akaashi wondered how Bokuto could still smile like he did after all those years alone.

Or, perhaps, it was exactly because of those years that the man could look at someone like Akaashi and smile like he was given the world.

***

Bokuto rose his eyebrows when Akaashi boarded the train with his sports bag the following Friday, tilting his head in a question. With a shrug, Akaashi lets him wonder about it.

He ended up wandering around the little station for almost an hour before the streets emptied after the train's arrival at its final stop. Akaashi finds it a little ironic that the train is the last to arrive in the station for the night, but is also thankful for it as he lets his gaze wander towards what could be a ghost town, silence of the night undisturbed by the presence of others. When Bokuto finally comes out to call for him, signalling that all the workers have left the area, Akaashi is glad for being the only one to hear the call.  
  
(After all, it reminds him terribly of lost child's cry for his mother and that's not something he wants others to hear.)

Bokuto smiled that impossibly bright smile of his when Akaashi reached the shelter the train had been parked in, as if they had been separated for a far longer time than they actually had been, like a little puppy dog with no concept of time.

"Hey hey hey", Bokuto smirked. "So I really am so amazing that you want to spent more time with me?"  
"Naturally, Bokuto-san", Akaashi replied, keeping his expression flat. Something that he had learned of the other boy during the time they had known each other was his _moods_ \- the way Bokuto would shift from amazing self-confidence to a complete lack of it in matter of seconds, and his constant need for reassurance that he mattered.

(What Akaashi didn't know was how much of it, if any, was caused by the whole _'I'm dead and I haven't talked to anyone else in ages_ ' thing and what part he was born with.)

"So, what should we do?" Bokuto asked, shifting his weight from his heels to the ball of his legs, swaying back and forth like a little child. "Should we just talk? Walk a little? Dig around for discharged magazines? Search the internet for owl videos?"  
"Owl... videos?" Akaashi asked, taken a little aback. "But... Wait - do you know of YouTube?"  
"I may be dead but I am dead and spend my days in the train. With people", Bokuto replied. "And people have phones. Which have, by the way, gotten a lot cooler with time, I didn’t even have my own phone you know! Anyways, there's a boy who takes the train sometimes and always watches cat videos on his phone. I like sitting next to him."  
"Can he... you know?"  
"He can't see me, no. But he did google something about ghosts and cold spots once and shivers sometimes when I sit too close by, so I guess he _can_ feel me, somewhat."  
"Bokuto-san", Akaashi said, lowering his eyebrows. "You don't feel cold at all."  
"I don't?" Bokuto asked, tilting his head. "But they say that ghosts feel cold. On the internet."  
"I don't feel cold at all when you sit next to me", Akaashi shrugged, lowering his bag to the ground.  
"Maybe it's because you can see me?" Bokuto wondered, lowering his brows. "Because that boy certainly seems cold when I'm present."  
"Maybe, Bokuto-san. Do you want to play with me?"  
"Play?"  
Golden eyes looked at Akaashi, confused and a little curious as he lowered to open his bag.

"Oh", Bokuto mumbled when Akaashi pulled out the volleyball.  
" _Oh_ ", he then repeated, his eyes now glued to the ball. Impressively, he managed to look both like a kid in a candy store and a widow burying his lover without moving a muscle as his eyes caress the volleyball with a hint of something that looks like _fear_ in his eyes.

"I'm a setter", Akaashi said gently. "And I know you are an ace, Bokuto-san."  
"Did you 'google' me?" Bokuto asks slowly, and Akaashi is certain he can hear the quotation marks around the word. Bokuto lifts his gaze to Akaashi, making him realise how fragile the other looks now. How soft his voice had been... Bokuto was _scared_ , Akaashi realised.  
"I googled the train", Akaashi admitted, fidgeting the ball in his fingers. "Your name came up in the results."  
"When?"  
"A month or so after we met."  
Bokuto closed his eyes slowly.  
"Do you pity me?"

It takes Akaashi a moment to answer.

"Not... really", is what he settles for. "I'm sad you had to die, but I am also a little..."  
"A little?" Bokuto queried, rising his brows.  
"Happy", Akaashi half whispers and grimaces. "Because if you hadn't, we wouldn't have met."  
"Well", Bokuto replied thoughtfully. "I guess that's one way to look at it. Will you toss for me?"  
"That's why I brought the ball with me, Bokuto-san."  
"I love the way you think", Bokuto grins, flexing his hands. "Let me get warmed up and then we can start."  
"You want to warm up?"  
"Sport injuries are a serious issue, Akaashi."  
"I don't think you can get hurt, Bokuto-san."  
"Akaashi!" the boy pouts, lowering to stretch his legs. "Let me pretend I'm alive just for tonight, okay?"  
"Okay", Akaashi replied, smiling a little. "But just for tonight."

The two ended up playing volleyball - or well, setting and spiking it - for most of the night, all the way until Akaashi's hands ached so that he was worried he'd damage them if he didn't stop and he had to call the session to end.

(Or maybe it was ten sets after he really needed to stop, because he hadn't had the heart to ask the ace stop after seeing how happy he looked.)

Bokuto keeps the ball in his hands as they lay down on the ground just outside the train hall, atop the sleeping bag Akaashi had pulled from the same sports bag with a shy smile, looking at the stars dotting the sky high above when Bokuto says it:  
"It was Monday, November 17th, year 1997. When I died."

Akaashi knows all of that, but he doesn't say anything. Just nods at the ghost as his eyes linger on Akaashi's face, as if asking for permission to speak up. When he finds it, he continues.  
"That day, I ran from school so I could catch the earliest train home. If I had taken my normal train, it would have been okay, you know? But it was Kuroo's – oh, Kuroo, he was my best friend – it was his birthday, and I had left his present at home and I needed to go get it before the party started, so I hurried and took the earlier train. I wasn't really to blame though - I'm not great with mornings, and I had to hide the present from Kuroo so it wasn't even in my room you know? It was easy to forget…”  
Bokuto’s smile was strained, but he kept it up as he continued.  
“I wanted to give that present to him so badly - it was the most perfect present, it was - but all I gave him that day was a dead best friend. Just because I had to catch the first train home."  
Bokuto closed his eyes, but Akaashi couldn't tear his eyes off the pain in the other's face.

(He wondered if he had always been this useless, unable to help those he cared for.)  
  
"You know what was worst, thought?" Bokuto asked softly, barely audible, and he didn't bother to wait for Akaashi's reply. Not that there would really have been one, anyway.  
"I didn't know I was dead at first."  
"How did you find out, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi managed to ask, and somehow Bokuto heard it over the rustle of wind and all the chirping cicadas.  
"The newspaper", Bokuto grimaced, still not opening his eyes. "When I came to it I didn't realise what had happened. I was in the train, and there were people, and I thought it was weird that it seemed like it was morning and not afternoon. Then I saw the magazine this man was reading and it said something like 'Young nationally recognized volleyball player dies in tragic accident' and I panicked. I thought, oh my god, what if it's _Kuroo_? What if it's any of my friends, _what if -_ but then, the man reading the magazine turned the page and there was my own smiling face, in that page, you know? With my name and everything. I always wanted to end up in a magazine, with like a whole page dedicated just for me, you know? But this wasn’t what I wanted at all – I didn’t want to be in a magazine because I _died –_ I wanted to be there for winning the Olympics or something!  I tried to grab the magazine from that man in disbelief, but my hand just slipped through his. I was only able to touch the magazine once no human was touching it - no human _alive_ , at least.  But it was enough - I already knew. Reading the magazine just made it sink in. Bokuto Kōtarō had died when the rail derailed - only one person dead, the magazine said. Incredibly bad luck, with the heavy luggage being thrown at me by the force so hard it snapped my neck. If I had stood anywhere else, or if I just hadn't stood up to give my place to some old lady, I wouldn't have died."

Bokuto opened his eyes, staring at the stars above them for a moment, before adding:  
"But I don't regret it."  
"Why?" Akaashi asks, because he doesn't know what else to do.  
"I saved that lady", Bokuto smiled. "I can live with dying - no pun intended by the way - but if she had died instead of me _because_ I had been selfish enough to keep my place, I don't know if I could have lived with myself. Doesn't mean I like being dead. I hate it. I hate knowing I caused everyone so much pain - but that old granny, she had a family, too. Friends, I would assume. Children, grandchildren... maybe a husband she takes care of at home? Or took, I guess, because she is probably dead too by now. Anyway, at least I had no one to take care of. I might have been the captain, but my team always really took care of me. Did you know? Kuroo was my vice-captain. They made him the captain afterwards, it seemed. He took them to nationals that year and they won. He thanked me in the magazine. I hated it. He wasn't smiling - he just fulfilled the dream we shared and he wasn't smiling, Akaashi. He was crying. I hated to know it was because I wasn't there."

(Akaashi wondered how it would have turned out if it had been him in Bokuto's place; images of bitter, curly haired ghost _tsk'_ ing at people who couldn't even see him filled his mind.)

Akaashi didn't know if there was anything he could say to help the ghost, so he gently reached for his hand instead.

He wasn't sure how he felt when it didn't slip through the ghostly man, either.

"Hey Akaashi", Bokuto said, after carefully studying their linked fingers with a worried face. "Why can you see me?"  
"I don't know, Bokuto-san", Akaashi admitted. "I really don't know."

(He wondered if he could ever be as strong as Bokuto was, calloused fingers gently mapping out Akaashi's own digits, Bokuto’s fingers filled with the curiosity of twenty years of not being able to feel someone's skin.)

***

It was almost a month later when Akaashi understands _why, maybe,_ he can see Bokuto.

  1. He almost died as a baby.  
2\. He lives at the house Bokuto used to live.



Of course, these were just flimsy theories; possibilities never clarified, but Akaashi liked to think there might be truth of them. Touch of death and a lifetime lived in the house of the boy long dead.

(Akaashi tries not to think about how Bokuto has been dead longer than he has even been alive, but he knows he won't succeed.)

Both of these things he finds out by odd change.

First, it's his mother, cleaning the cabinets and finding the hospital papers from when she gave birth to Akaashi she had thought to be long lost.

(Maybe it's because his mother was such a klutz that Akaashi had grown up to be so neat, so careful, so dependable, memories of being five and frantically searching for his mother’s passport twenty minutes before her taxi to the airport would arrive as she still packed her bags as clear as yesterday in his mind.)

"Did I ever tell you", she starts after having shown Akaashi a picture of the two of them in her hospital bed, her hair still inky black without the streaks of grey that broke its surface now – Akaashi loved that she didn’t cover those streaks with dye, didn’t care about what others thought of her. "That you stopped breathing for a little while after being born?"  
"Did I?" Akaashi asks, surprised. "I didn't know."  
"You were born too early", his mother hums gently. "You were really weak for a few weeks after being born. It was a really close call that first day, but you grew up just fine, so I'm happy."

(Akaashi briefly wonders where befriending, or even seeing ghosts fits in 'growing up just fine', but decides to keep the thought to himself, chewing through the new information in silence.)

The second part he finds out from Bokuto himself.  
"I wonder what they did with my home", he says one day as he sits by Akaashi in the half empty train. "I wonder if it even exists anymore."  
"Where did you live, Bokuto-san?"  
When the address is more familiar than he would have expected, Akaashi doesn't really know how to feel.  
"That house", he says, nodding slowly. "It's still there, yeah."  
"Oh", Bokuto smiles. "I'm glad. It's a good house. I'd have been sad if they destroyed it."  
"Then it's good that they didn't", Akaashi says softly, swallowing the truth in his mind. "Talking of homes, Bokuto-san, you said you didn't hide the present in your room."  
"You remember that?" Bokuto asks, awestruck. "You must really like listening to people."  
"I guess", Akaashi admits. _I don't forget what you tell me, at least,_ he adds in his mind.  
"I hid it in the attic", Bokuto smiles. "There's this secret nook I found when I was a kid - I don't think anyone else knew of it? There was a loose board that you could move easily, and behind it there was some space. I hid it there."  
"That sounds like a good place to hide things", Akaashi admits. "Something that only you would think of."

The ghost really shined each time Akaashi praised him.

(Akaashi couldn't find it in himself to feel weirded out by it anymore.)

***

Once Bokuto learned that he could touch Akaashi, he seemed unable of stopping it. Ghostly fingers now always rested on Akaashi. Sometimes Bokuto softly petted his hair, sometimes he studied Akaashi’s fingers like they were the eighth wonder of the world and sometimes his fingers drew inane patterns up and down Akaashi uniform. He never complained or commented on it.

(After all, it wasn't like he would have wanted Bokuto to stop.)

It was only when Bokuto kissed his cheek out of excitement when Akaashi promised to stay another night at the last stop with him that he wasn't sure if any of this was such a good idea anymore.  
  
(After all, the ghostly lips seemed to have burned their shape into Akaashi's mind, his cheek tingling for hours and hours after the contact, unforgiving memory lanes keeping the touch fresh in his mind - the hands that scooped his cheeks, the bump of Bokuto's nose against his skin and those cursedly soft lips unhesitant in their touch.)

***

November 17th, exactly twenty years after Bokuto's death Akaashi finds himself knocking on the door of a person he doesn't know, in the outskirts of Tokyo way too far away from his home to be comfortable.

(Maybe it had been bad of him to lie to his parents about a study night at a teammate's place, but he couldn't bring himself to tell them the truth, either.)

When the door opens shortly after his knock, Akaashi was met with catlike eyes and long bottle blond hair, skinny framed man much shorter than himself looking at him questioningly.  
"I'm Akaashi Keiji", Akaashi says softly, unsure if he has the right address after all. "Does Kuroo Tetsurō-san live here?"

The cat eyes study him with two flickers of amber, head to toes and toes to head, and then the man leaves the door in soft struts. It doesn't take long for the man to be replaced by a much taller one with hair black as the night and a sly grin on his face.

"Oho?" he grins, leaning lazily on the doorframe. "It's not often that unknown high school boy with beautifully rustic accent drops by. Akaashi-kun, was it?"  
"Yes. Kuroo Tetsurō-san, I presume?"  
"Just Kuroo is fine", the man replies and waves his hand. "What brings you here?"  
"Did you know somebody by the name of Bokuto Kōtarō when you were young, Kuroo-san?"

The grin drops from the sharp-edged face faster than Akaashi could blink, the man’s eyes clouding with a mess of emotions Akaashi couldn't decipher.  
"Why do you ask?"  
"I assume that's a yes", Akaashi says, maybe too blunt, but the man's face gave him the confirmation he was searching for. "I apologise for my frankness, but there's something I need to show you."  
"Do humour me, then", Kuroo says, raising one of his brows. Everything about the man seemed a little sharp, from pose to possibly the finest jawline Akaashi had ever seen.  
"I live close to Fukurōdani", Akaashi starts, settling his hands atop the bag on his side. "In a red roofed house, forty-minute train ride North of the school."  
Kuroo's other brow slowly joins its friend up high on his forehead.  
"My parents bought the house as its previous owners moved away around twenty years ago", Akaashi continued, fingers nervously dancing on the bag's zipper, fidgety with his nerves. "I never thought about it much. But then I found something left behind, and I think it belongs to you, Kuroo-san."  
  
Maybe Akaashi imagined it, but the sound of the zipper sounded unnaturally loud in the silence between them; the cracks of each opening tooth as loud as a firecracker in his head.  
"Based on the card, Bokuto-san wanted to give this to you in 1997", Akaashi said, pulling out the package from his back and extending it towards the older man. "I am sorry the delivery is so late."

(Akaashi knows he's staring, and the man is staring back, frozen like stone, and for a moment he wonders if he could have been wrong, after all.)

Kuroo's hands are shaking when he reaches for the package, and Akaashi finds he respects the man for being able to reach for the package at all – he doesn’t think he would have been, if he is honest with himself - and he softly opens the card taped at the top.  
"How did you find this?" Kuroo asks, fingers petting the surface gently, eyes fleeing over the text.  
"I accidentally stumbled upon it", Akaashi lies.  
  
(Three days of almost nonstop searching, two broken nails, aching eyes and lungs full of dust later he had finally found the moving board and the present stuck behind it in the stuffy attic his family had never really bothered to use.)

"It only says 'Kuroo' in the card", Kuroo notes, rising his gaze to Akaashi's face. "Why do you think it's me?"  
"I", Akaashi started, stopping to rearrange his thoughts. "I researched a little."  
"A little?" the man asks. "How did you even do that?"  
"My parents remembered the name of the previous owners", Akaashi explained, not sure if it was a lie or not. "And I... found out about Bokuto-san. With the whole name - it says 'from Kōtarō' on your card - it was easy to find out what happened to him. The article mentioned his team, and I found an article that mentioned you both. Then it was just a question of finding out where you live these days. It wasn't too hard."  
  
(It wasn't a complete lie. Tracking down Kuroo was both easier than harder than Akaashi had thought - he hadn’t dared to ask Bokuto for Kuroo’s surname, so he googled it and went through numerous old news to find the winner team of Spring High of '98 with the whole team’s names listed. Once he found Kuroo's first name, rest of it was easy.)

"Oh", Kuroo says. "Thank you for that."  
"I'm sorry I opened the present", Akaashi hurries to say. "I wanted to make sure there was nothing... mouldy or anything like that inside of it."  
"Was there?"  
"I didn't open the packet but I assume that something gone off nineteen years ago was probably worth throwing away. I took the liberty of replacing it with fresh version of the same product. I also took the liberty to clean other parts of your present to make sure they didn't smell like they had just... been in the attic for twenty years."  
"You're a good kid", the man smiled, reaching out to ruffle Akaashi's hair. "It's a long ride to here from Fukurōdani. Come inside and have some tea."  
"I couldn't-" Akaashi tried to protest, but Kuroo would have none of it.  
"It's no bother", he waved Akaashi off mid-sentence. "Kenma! Akaashi-kun will stay for tea!"

There was no reply but a soft clank from inside the house and the sound of tap being opened as Akaashi found himself pulled inside.  
"Leave your shoes somewhere there", the man said and pointed to a pile of mismatched shoes, considerable amount of them looking like sports shoes. "Sorry, we don't really use slippers inside so I have none to offer you, but I promise the floors are clean. I will buy you new socks if yours get ruined."  
"You don't need to", Akaashi says, toeing off his shoes. "Pardon the intrusion."

He followed the man's suggestion to leave his jacket on the chair by the doorstep before following him to the kitchen were the blond man greeted him with a nod, three mugs already placed in the small glass table on the other end of the room.  
"Did you two exchange names?" Kuroo asked, and as both Akaashi and Kenma shook their heads, he smirked. "Guessed so. Akaashi-kun, this is Kozume Kenma. Kenma, this is Akaashi Keiji."  
"I told you his name to start with", Kenma mumbled, but Kuroo seemed to ignore it as the blond looked in Akaashi's direction. "And just Kenma is fine."  
"Kenma-san", Akaashi replied. "Understood."  
"Just... Kenma", the man repeated softly, frowning. "I don't like... honorifics... and all that."  
"Kenma", Akaashi said, nodding carefully. "Thank you for offering me tea."  
"Kuroo basically forced you to stay, didn't he?" Kenma asked, but somehow Akaashi felt like the question wasn't really one. "He's not very polite."  
"He brought me something amazing", Kuroo replied, apparently thinking it was good enough reason to explain his actions. "You'll never guess-"  
"The missing present", Kenma replied. "I could hear you."  
"Bummer", Kuroo mumbled, sitting down to table and petting the empty chair next to him. "Sit down, Akaashi."

Hesitantly, Akaashi walked to the table and sat opposite of Kuroo instead, wondering how he even got here, in the flat of two grown men over twice his age a few hours train ride away from home.

(Akaashi knows the answer lies in the warmth he feels when he thinks of golden eyes and sunshine smiles, not-even-there breaths and hesitant touches of a long death boy who never got to grow into a man.)

"Oh", he says, remembering. "Happy Birthday, Kuroo-san."  
"I don't really celebrate that", Kuroo grimaces. "I think you can probably guess why."

(Akaashi can - he had thought about it, imagined it in his head; the news, the realisation, the wait, the horror and the words nobody never wanted to hear. Imagined going from excited waiting to terror of silence after the news to finally hearing that he would never see his best friend alive again. Imagined how easy it would be to blame himself if Bokuto had been on that train to get his birthday present instead of Kuroo's. He had imagined it all, over and over, and he wished he hadn't. Kuroo didn’t get to wish, because he had lived through it, and it made Akaashi feel guilty for only playing with the idea when he knew it was Kuroo’s only reality he could never change no matter how much he wished for it.)

"I understand", Akaashi says. "Maybe I should have come in another day?"  
"No, no", Kuroo says, shaking his head. "Somehow presents from the past don't feel that wrong."  
Akaashi doesn't know if it's the truth or if Kuroo says it to ease his mind; either way, he's a little thankful for the words.

By the time Kenma makes Akaashi choose a teabag he wants and has poured water for them all, Kuroo is back to playing with the card, his eyes fixated on the sloppy kanji sprawled across it.

"Planning on opening that this year?" Kenma ask softly, settling to the chair by Kuroo's side.  
"Yeah", Kuroo replies, his voice sounding a little thigh, forced. Akaashi realises he's trying not to cry. "I just need a moment."  
"I can leave", Akaashi offers, and he sort of really wants to do it. "It's not my place to be here in this moment."  
"Nonsense", Kuroo dismisses, waving his hand once again. "You went through all the trouble to deliver this to me - who even does that for a stranger? You can tell me it was easy to find me, but I don't believe you - I full well know my phone number and address aren't easily accessible thanks to me and Kenma's jobs. You must have gone around asking."  
"Uh", Akaashi mumbles. "Nekomata-sensei told me."  
"Coach Nekomata?" Kuroo asks, surprised. "Wait, are you - do you-"  
"I'm Fukurōdani’s current setter", Akaashi replied, trying to force his fingers still from their nervous dance. "Nekomata-sensei doesn't coach actively anymore, but comes by now and then. He remembered you when I asked about the team back in '97."  
"I need to send that old man a thank you card", Kuroo mumbled under his breath. "Talk about ghosts from past, huh."

(Akaashi wonders how Bokuto would feel if he heard Kuroo call him that, wonders if ghost could cry, and quickly dismisses any ideas of drying tears from the ghost's cheeks.)

Akaashi is halfway down his cup of tea when Kuroo finally tugs at the neatly taped paper, muttering a low ' _here goes everything_ ' before opening the package’s end and tugging his hand blindly inside, pulling out a package of strawberry Pocky.  
He stares at it for a moment before glancing at Akaashi.  
"I assume this is what you replaced?"  
"It is", Akaashi nods. "I got you the same flavour."  
"I will pay you back for it."  
"You really don't have to", Akaashi says gently. "It was my own idea to deliver this present to you, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo doesn't reply, settling for pulling the next object out of the wrap.  
"Are you kidding me", he says, staring at the object like it was personally attacking him. "He made me a mixtape?"  
He opens the little container and straightens the paper stuck inside of it. Akaashi can see his lip waver as his eye skim over the text, and when the man snorts it sounds stuffy and there's a tear halfway down his left cheek.  
"I can't believe his nerve", Kuroo chuckled, carefully settling down the paper. Kenma leaned his head on Kuroo's shoulder, not saying anything but Akaashi could read the gentleness and affection of the gesture clear as day - it was a reminder of support, gentle touch meant to heal.

It wasn't until Kuroo had pulled out the last part of the present and stared at it for a while before he turned his head and buried his face in the blond hair, letting out a shuddering breath.  
"He got us matching crop tops", he mumbles, probably more to himself than the other two in the room, Akaashi thought.  
"But I must say that ‘meow meow, shit drip’ is so much cooler than ‘hoot hoot, you’re a fool.’ Was I really this rude as a teen?"  
"He always saved the best for you, and yes, you were. You would have loved to wear that", the blond replies flatly, and Kuroo hums something that sounded distantly like admitting the words to be true.

"So", Kuroo breaths in and straightens himself, drying the corner of his eye. "What do you know of Bokuto, Akaashi-kun?"  
"He was the captain of your team", Akaashi replies slowly. "One of the top 5 aces of his time. Someone who made people want to cheer for him. Well liked, respected person."  
"None of that is a lie", Kuroo replied with a nod. "But there's a lot more to him than that. He was the captain, but really, he was the baby of our team. He'd get these lows when he felt he was worth nothing, only to bounce back soon again with the confidence of a shooting star. He was eccentric and loud, for sure, but he was kind and reliable. A good friend, for sure."  
Akaashi waited silently, knowing there would be more.  
"I really wish I could thank him", Kuroo then said, hand petting the shirt in front of him. "I said really stupid things to him when I last saw him."  
"What did you say, Kuroo-san?"  
"I", Kuroo hesitated, looking down. "He forgot to take this present to school with him, even thought we were supposed to leave to celebrate right after practise ended. I was annoyed at him for forgetting - what a petty reason, but I was really excited about our plans and didn't want them to be pushed forwards, you know? So I... wasn't very kind."

Kuroo took a deep breath, staring at the table top as if searching for something.  
"I said 'Don't be late, you stupid owl'", he admits, closing his eyes. "And he just smiled and waved at me, saying 'Wait for me! It's the best present ever so it's going to be worth it!' and I left him run off. I thought I would see him soon enough. But I didn't, and it haunts me. I could have told him to be careful. I could have told him to stay safe. I could have told him I'd wait for him. I could have told him he could give me the present after the party. But I called him a stupid owl, and I... can't forgive myself for that. Even though I called him that all the time and he called me a spiteful cat in return, I never wanted it to be the last thing I would say to him."  
"You couldn’t have known he'd die, Kuroo-san", Akaashi reminded.  “I'm sure Bokuto-san knew your words didn't held any malice."  
"Yet, I regret it", Kuroo said, and he smiled a smile that shouldn't have been smiled; a smile so ragged with pain that its existence should have been impossible but somehow, he managed it. "You are a good kid, Akaashi-kun. Tell your friends you care for them when you still can. Tell them you love them, no matter how embarrassing that feels, because no one really knows if they'll be here tomorrow. You can trust me you will regret nothing more than the words unsaid if any of them just suddenly disappears."

Akaashi lowered his teacup softly.

(Akaashi wondered when he had lost his mind, when he had changed and why, as the idea haunted his mind. It pushed its way into his mouth and all he saw was gold,  
gold,  
         golden eyes.)  
  
"Kuroo-san", he started softly, the tone of his voice catching the other's attention.  
"This might sound completely insane, but I have an idea of how... you could do that."  
Kuroo raised his brows slowly.  
"Maybe I am insane, then", he replied. "But I'm listening." 

***

Akaashi was almost worried about how little convincing he had needed to do to get Kuroo to drive three hours through the darkening evening with someone he had only met today, someone who had told him he could communicate with a ghost, all the way to a village so small it could be mistaken for a fleck of dust on any proper map. But yet, there they were, pulling to a stop by the station Akaashi had come to know as Bokuto’s nightly home, and Kuroo killed the engine without a word, giving Akaashi a questioning look.

“It’s the hall over there”, Akaashi said softly, pointing at the said hall at the end of the tracks. “We have to get inside.”  
“How are you planning on doing that?” Kuroo asked, and Akaashi tried to smile.  
“It’s not locked”, he explained, unlocking his seatbelt and looking down at his feet. “Do you mind if I borrow this ball for a moment?”  
Kuroo glanced at the volleyball on Akaashi’s feet and gestured him to take it, unlocking his seatbelt without a word and stepping out of the car, flexing his hands up towards the stars. Akaashi followed him out of the car, slowly closing the door as Kuroo studied him.

“Oh well”, Kuroo said, shaking his head. “If you kill me, then at least I died in a cool way.”  
“I am not planning on killing you, Kuroo-san”, Akaashi noted, and Kuroo laughed at him.  
“That sounds exactly like something a killer would say, Akaashi.”  
“Or anyone who has to tell someone that they aren’t one”, Akaashi noted. “I am much weaker than you are, you must know that. I couldn’t hurt you.”  
“If you say so”, Kuroo smiled. “I… I guess I should ask you to lead the way.”  
“Follow me”, Akaashi said, and he turned towards the tracks. He was almost surprised to hear the man follow him, not sure what had convinced him to believe Akaashi – probably desperation over actual belief in anything that he had said, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to ask, either, as he made his way over the tracks and towards the hall doors.

By them, he finally turned to face the man, and he spoke softly and silently, making Kuroo lean closer to catch his words.

“Could you please wait by the doorway after I go in, Kuroo-san? Look inside, but don’t make yourself known.”  
“Okay”, Kuroo nodded, crossing his arms. Akaashi could see the nerves on his expression, and he felt them too as he nodded at the man and pulled the door open just enough to slip through, hoping Kuroo would do what he had said.

(Akaashi wondered if he should really do this, because he had read about ghosts and why they stayed behind; worried that Kuroo would be what had held Bokuto so tightly in this world for all these years.)

 

“Bokuto!” he shouted, spinning the ball on his hands as the familiar figure stumbled out of the train, his face painted with surprise. “Spike!”  
“What-!” Bokuto started, but Akaashi threw the ball up without waiting for more, and Bokuto readied his stance, easily ready by the time Akaashi jumped up and set the ball towards him, his hand easily slamming down on the ball, slamming it to the floor by Akaashi’s feet. Akaashi hurried to collect the ball, turning towards the ghost halfway through his boasting.

“Did you see that Akaashi!” he boomed, his face split by a wonderful smile. “You surprised me but I still spiked it! What are you even doing here, ‘Kaashi? I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”  
“Catch”, Akaashi said, sending the ball softly in upwards arch towards Bokuto who caught it easily. “I wasn’t really planning on coming tonight either, but… something happened.”  
“What? What’s wrong, Akaashi? Are you okay!? Did someone-”  
“I am okay, Bokuto-san”, Akaashi said softly, trying to calm the ghost. “But I did something I... don’t know if you will like what I did, Bokuto-san. But I brought someone to see you.”

 Kuroo stepped through the doorway, his eyes trained on the ball in Bokuto’s hands, colour drained from his features as he studied it.  
“What the hell”, he murmured, and the ball fell through Bokuto’s fingers as the recognition took over his features. “Is that – is that really him? Was he holding that ball?”  
“Kuroo?” Bokuto whispered, but Kuroo didn’t react to it. “Kuroo! _Kuroo!_ ”  
“He is calling for you, Kuroo”, Akaashi said softly, wrenching his hands together. “Can’t you hear him?”  
Kuroo’s eyes were glued to the ball on the floor, and he shook his head.  
“Kuroo?” Bokuto asked, taking a step towards the man just as he spoke.  
“Bo?” he said, and Bokuto nodded at the sound. “Bo, please, can you lift that ball up? I want to know that you are really there – I can’t see you, I’m sorry. I just need to know.”

 Bokuto lifted the ball wordlessly, staring at Kuroo, barely blinking as Kuroo stared at the ball he held up in his hands; in what probably looked like just empty air for Kuroo.  
“Akaashi”, Bokuto said, but his eyes didn’t leave Kuroo. “I am going to throw the ball at him. Tell Kuroo to set for me. I don’t care how bad it is, just tell him to do it.”  
“Uh”, Akaashi said, turning to Kuroo. “Bokuto is about to throw the ball for you. He wants you to set it.”  
“But I can’t see him”, Kuroo replied, blinking at the suggestion.  
“Tell him to just set it around where the ball is now. I will get to it.”  
Akaashi told him that, and Kuroo nodded slowly, eyeing the ball. Akaashi took a step to the side, not wanting to be stuck between a man who tried to set for a ghost he couldn’t see and a ghost who was planning on spiking that set.  
“Shoot at me”, Kuroo then said, reading his stand. “I’m ready, Bo. Give me your best pass.”

The ball arched through the air on an easy trajectory, leaving Kuroo with plenty enough time to find his way under it and jump up to set it. His set was aimed a little to the side, Akaashi noticed, but it didn’t throw Bokuto off. He ran and jumped off the ground, his body arching into a beautiful stance as his hand connected with the ball, sending it down with admirable speed. It bounced off the ground a few times, bumped into the train and rolled a few more harmless meter forwards before stopping. But nobody was looking at the ball anymore, Kuroo’s eyes trained on the space he thought Bokuto was, and Bokuto trying to line himself with that space while staring at Kuro in return. Akaashi’s eyes wandered from one man to the other, and he didn’t know what he should say, if he should say anything.

 (He thought he probably shouldn’t.)

 “Fuck”, Kuroo said softly, running his fingers through his messy hair. “It really is you.”  
Bokuto nodded before he remembered Kuroo couldn’t see him, turning to look at Akaashi who informed Kuroo of his nod.  
“Hey Bo”, Kuroo said softly. “Akaashi-kun here came to my door as a surprise tonight. I live in Tokyo now, you know? He just appeared there and said he had something to give me. Can you guess what it was?”  
Bokuto couldn’t, Akaashi guessed, based on the way he stared at Akaashi in shock. Kuroo didn’t wait for Akaashi to try to translate the look, but continued:  
“It was your present to me. I understand now why you said it was the perfect present – it really was, Bo. It really was. Akaashi here even switched the Pocky to a packet that hadn’t gone bad ages ago – I ate them on the way here. They reminded me of the times we played together - we had them the day you… died. I haven’t really eaten them much since. They remind me of everything I did wrong.”

 Kuroo straightened his back and stared straight at what he thought was Bokuto’s face. Bokuto took another side step to line up with his stare.  
“Bokuto”, Kuroo started again, his voice cracking. “You are not a stupid owl. You are my friend who I love. I am sorry I said that to you. I shouldn’t have.”  
“You are stupid”, Bokuto replied, and Akaashi hesitated to forward the message before Bokuto stared at him and he stuttered it out. Bokuto continued, taking little breaks after every sentence so Akaashi could repeat them to Kuroo as he did, Akaashi’s throat tightening with fear as he repeated the words.

 (What if he disappears now?)

 “I have never been angry at you over that”, Bokuto said. “I was angry at you for never coming to see the train and me, I was – but only until I heard girls from our class to whisper about you, saying that you were too scared of trains to take one anymore. That you had travelled by bus to all of your competitions since I died even if the rest of the team took a train. After that, I understood why you didn’t come – and I understood you had no reason to come. You couldn’t know I was stuck here. To you I was… gone. I read the news – first Inter High and then the national team, huh? You really went there and made our dreams come through.”’  
Bokuto hesitated for a moment, studying Kuroo’s face as he listened to the last bits of Akaashi’s repeat of his words, and Akaashi studied him in return.  
“But did your dreams come through, Kuroo?”

 Kuroo looked surprised as Akaashi repeated this question to him, but he smiled before replying.  
“Actually”, he said, his voice lighter than before. “Do you remember Kenma, the setter from year below us? The one you asked me to go after?”  
Akaashi noted that Bokuto nodded, and Kuroo’s smile widened.  
“He wears a matching ring with me now”, Kuroo smiled. “All of our families know – they took it very well Bo, I worried for nothing. Tokyo even lets us be registered as a couple – it’s not quite a marriage, but at least we are officially together – and we are married in our hearts, you know? So, I would say my dreams came through, that’s for sure.”  
“Tell him I am so happy for him”, Bokuto smiled, and there were tears in his eyes. “So proud. He has grown into a fine man.”

 Saying that, he squinted and walked closer to Kuroo, leaning to look right at his unknowing features.  
“Also tell him he has aged terribly.”  
“Uh”, Akaashi murmured. “Are you sure?”  
“Confident”, Bokuto replied and Kuroo tilted his head in question.  
“Bokuto-san told me to tell you that you have aged terribly, Kuroo-san. His words, not mine.”  
“Hey!” Kuroo exclaimed and Bokuto laughed at his face. “You have no right to say that! I have lived through twenty years of school stress, nationals stress, constant jet lack from international games and just general work! I have the right to look older, asshole!”  
“He is just laughing at you, Kuroo-san.”  
“I can’t believe I have missed you for twenty years”, Kuroo complained, but his face turned serious. “That’s a lie. Of course, I missed you. I can’t believe you are… there. I wish I could see you and hug you, but having Akaashi here to translate and seeing you spike that ball is more than I have ever dreamed off. It’s more than I could ask for.”  
“Akaashi”, Bokuto said softly. “I am going to hug that cat. Tell him to hug me back.”  
“Kuroo-san, Bokuto is about to hug you – he is, uh, hugging you now. He wants you to hug him back.”  
“Where is his back?” Kuroo asked softly, and Akaashi hesitantly touched his arm, guiding it to rest against Bokuto’s back. He then repeated the process with Kuroo’s another arm, trying not to feel too self-conscious for acting so friendly with someone he didn’t know that well.

“Thank you”, Kuroo murmured. “I’m sorry Bo, I can’t really feel you – I might be wrong, but I feel a little coldness against my neck thought.”  
“His face is against your neck”, Akaashi informed Kuroo as Bokuto smiled against the man’s neck. “I would say you are feeling him a little bit.”  
“Fuck”, Kuroo murmured. “This is definitely the weirdest best thing ever. Shit man, I don’t know what to say – thank you, Akaashi-kun. For doing this.”  
“Yeah”, Bokuto said, straightening himself and releasing his hold of Kuroo. Kuroo seemed to sense it, his hands falling to the side to make space for Bokuto as he took a step back to turn to look at Akaashi. “Thank you. But you should have told me you were going to give him the present, man. I could have told you were the hide was exactly.”  
“I thought you wouldn’t have wanted me to”, Akaashi admitted. “It was my selfishness that made me do it.”  
“How was that selfish?” Bokuto asked, surprise clear on his features. “You went out of your way to help me.”  
“For selfish reasons, Bokuto-san”, Akaashi replied. “I wanted you to be happy, Bokuto-san, and I thought maybe this would make you happy. But I-”  
Akaashi stumbled for words, glancing towards Kuroo, who looked rightfully confused by the conversation he could only hear a half of, and then back at Bokuto. “I almost didn’t do it. I was afraid you would disappear if I did, Bokuto-san. But it would have been more selfish of me not to do it, in fear of losing you. You deserve to rest, if you… want to.”

Bokuto looked like he might cry, and for once Akaashi found it hard to keep his face neutral, casting his eyes down in the hopes they would mask the tears that threatened to fall.

“You are an idiot”, Kuroo said just as Bokuto opened his mouth. He turned to look at Kuroo, and Akaashi’s eyes travelled between the two.  
“You aren’t selfish, Akaashi”, Kuroo said, dropping the -kun without a second thought, it seemed. “You care for Bokuto, I can see that – and yet you delivered my present when you were afraid it would make him disappear? Hell, Akaashi, that’s the opposite of selfish.”  
Akaashi sighed, rubbing his neck.  
“Let’s not make this about me”, he said slowly. “You two have a lot to catch up with.”

 Bokuto looked at Kuroo, and Kuroo looked somewhat off side of Bokuto, and they both looked thoughtful.  
“Actually, if it’s okay with you Bo”, Kuroo started, gesturing somewhat in Bokuto’s general direction. “I think this is good for tonight. It’s a lot to take in… I’d rather come back another day. Or night, I guess. More prepared and less… shocked? I would want to take Kenma with me, too, if that’s okay. It’s just. Tonight has been a lot. Wonderful, but a lot.”  
“Agreed”, Bokuto said, surprising Akaashi. It took him a few seconds to remember he needed to repeat his words to Kuroo.  
“I will work out another day, then”, Kuroo smiled. “Akaashi, can I have your email? I need to be able to contact you somehow and you can tell Bokuto I’m coming? And I need to know if you can be present – I can’t talk to him on my own, really.”  
“Sure”, Akaashi replied, taking Kuroo’s offered phone and writing down his email. “Just warn me on time so I can come up with an excuse to my parents to be away for a night.”  
“Wonderful”, Kuroo smiled. “Okay, Bo – I think I should go. I don’t want to, but as said tonight has been a lot. I still need to drive home, too, and it’s really late. Do you need a ride home, Akaashi-kun?”  
“Don’t go”, Bokuto said, turning to look at Akaashi, his eyes pleading. “Please stay the night.”  
“I will be alright without, thank you”, Akaashi replied, smiling a little. “Should I walk you to your car, Kuroo?”  
“I will be fine by myself”, Kuroo smiled, walking up to the abandoned volleyball on the floor. “Can I ask for one last thing, Bo?”

 

Kuroo extended his hand towards Bokuto and Akaashi, his fist in a bump. Bokuto smiled and ran over to smack his fist against it – it did go partially through Kuroo’s fist, but Bokuto’s smile didn’t falter.  
“Thank you, Bo”, Kuroo smiled, lowering his hand. Akaashi guessed he had felt the cold. “And Akaashi – thank you. I can’t tell you how much this meant to me – thank you. I will pay it back to you, somehow.”  
“Please don’t, Kuroo-san.”  
“I will”, Kuroo promised. “But, for now – bye, Bo, bye Akaashi. I will be seeing you later.”

***

Bokuto didn’t say anything for a long while after Kuroo left, but he held Akaashi’s hand and lead him to sit outside by the hall, leaning their backs against the metal walls as they looked up to the stars. It was honestly too cold to be sitting outside, but Akaashi didn’t complain, didn’t see any reason to complain.

(After all, Bokuto was still here, at least for now, and his hand in Akaashi’s was anything but cold.)

“What now?” Bokuto finally said, turning to look at Akaashi. “You know what you said earlier? I also thought I might disappear if Kuroo finds my present, but I haven’t. I don’t feel any different than before, you know? Expect happy, and confused, you know, but I am still just as here? Won’t I ever disappear?”  
“I don’t know, Bokuto-san”, Akaashi said. “I really don’t know, and if can be honest, Bokuto-san, I do not want to know the answer to that.”  
“Why, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asked, leaning in to study Akaashi’s face. “You will leave one day, too, you know.”  
“I won’t.”  
“You will”, Bokuto repeated. “One day, Fukurōdani won’t be big enough for you anymore, not big enough for your dreams. Even if it was, Akaashi, my train will be deemed too old for use one day and it will be left to rot somewhere. Or maybe melted? I wonder if they can melt something this big to reuse it?”  
“I will buy it.”  
“What?”  
“I will buy your train”, Akaashi replied, clenching his hands into fists, not caring about how hard his hold was on Bokuto’s fingers on the hand he was still holding. “Once it’s deemed too old.”  
“I don’t know if you will have the time to collect that much money before it happens, ‘Kaashi.”  
“Then _Kuroo-san_ will buy it!” Akaashi replied, his voice trembling. “He is rich! He won’t let your train be destroyed, won’t let _you_ to be destroyed.”  
“And what then, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, his voice gentle. “You can’t just own a train in middle of Tokyo.”  
“Then we will get it dragged somewhere nice”, Akaashi said. “I will build a home into it. Work as an artist and make a do.”  
“And where will I be?” Bokuto asked, tilting his head. “In that image?”  
“Living with me, of course”, Akaashi replied. “What else, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto sighed and shook his head, lifting his fingers to gently take a hold of Akaashi’s jaw to keep his eyes lined with Bokuto’s.

(Akaashi didn’t like it, he realised, this sudden seriousness in the conversation, not how _old_ Bokuto seemed as he held Akaashi’s gaze.)

“You can’t waste your life on those already dead, ‘Kaashi”, Bokuto said, gently but firm, and Akaashi reached over to take hold of Bokuto’s shoulder.  
“It’s not wasting it if I want it, Bokuto-san”, he replied, as serious as he knew how to be, and he was the most serious person he knew. “I want it, Bokuto-san.”  
“What about when you get too old to take care of your weird little train home, ‘Kaashi? When you die?”  
“I will come back to haunt the place with you, Bokuto-san.”  
“What if you can’t?” Bokuto asked, and Akaashi knew it was a fair question to ask, but he hated it none the less. “What if I just disappear one day? Then you will be all alone in that old train, Akaahi. That doesn’t sound nice to me.”

“I can do it”, Akaashi replied. “Nothing can prevent me from doing something if I decide to get it done. If you disappear, Bokuto-san, I will just follow you wherever you go to.”  
“Why?”

Akaashi hesitated, just for a moment.  
“Because I want to?”

Bokuto’s eyes searched Akaashi’s, and something like a realization seemed to dawn on his features.  
“Akaashi?”  
“Keiji.”  
Bokuto tilted his head in confusion.  
“Keiji. Call me Keiji.”  
“Keiji. Why?”  
“Because…” he hesitated again, looking at the ghost that looked so very real, and looked at his hand on his shoulder. His hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto, who felt so very alive under his touch.  
Bokuto, that he had come to care for more than he cared to admit, but he had to.  
“Because I like you, Bokuto-san.”  
“Kōtarō.”  
“Because I like you, Kōtarō.”  
“But I am dead.”

Akaashi smiled.  
“I know that much, Bo- Kōtarō”, he noted, and Bokuto smiled a little shyly back at him. “Dead or alive, Kōtarō, you are the only person I would ran to the train for. And I always run.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I want to meet you, Kōtarō. I want to meet you every day – is it tomorrow or three weeks after, twenty years from now or the last day of my life – I want to meet you on each and every one of them. Whether you are smiling, or you are crying, happy, sulking… I want to meet you. It’s that simple, really.”  
“But you can barely touch me.”  
“I think I am touching you just fine, Bokuto-san”, Akaashi smiled. “Do I look bothered by the way things are?”  
“You don’t”, Bokuto admitted, and he had a dumb smile on his face that made Akaashi’s cheeks heat up. “Huh, you are really weird, you know that, right?”  
“Says the dead boy.”  
“Says the boy talking to a ghost”, Bokuto smiled, and he tilted his head. “I wonder if I can… hmm.”

He slid his fingers from Akaashi’s jaw to his cheek, pressing his hand flat against Akaashi’s skin as he studied his face.  
Akaashi knew what he was asking, so he nodded and he closed his eyes, and he couldn’t help the smile that slid onto his lips just as Bokuto’s pressed against them, and he giggled into the kiss.

No matter what lay ahead of him, Akaashi knew he would always run to catch the first train home.  
Home, to Bokuto.  
And he wouldn’t stop running.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is from Imogean Heap’s song ‘First train home’ that doesn’t have much to do with this fic besides the fact that I was listening to it while the idea for this story popped into my mind. This, however, is not a song- based fic. But who knows, you might like the song?
> 
> I haven't written a fic in a few years (I have been concentrating on personal projects) so this feels a little weird, especially seeing how long ago I last wrote about anyone who wasn't my own character. I did take some... freedom with my choice of character traits, I guess. This fic also took me around two years to finish since I wrote 90% of it in 2016 and only now finished it. Honestly, I wanted to post this back then, but my old fandom had a lot of drama in it and I got too tired it and just didn't want to do anything for any fandom anymore. But this fic kept haunting my mind (pun intented) so I finally picked it back up, and I hope it will make at least one person happier than they were before. Or more... content. Whatever. I just hope someone enjoyed this, you know?
> 
> I am, btw, aware that writing Akaashi's texts all in lowercase doesn't make much sense considering how you write Japanese, but I think it's such a nice way to show of his personality that I couldn't resist doing it.
> 
> As this has not been beta-read, I do appreciate it if you point out any mistakes that there are :'D
> 
> I hope you are having a lovely day, dear reader, and thank you for reading! 
> 
> Sincerely yours,  
> Marras


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